


the ways of fabulous

by Raven_Ehtar



Series: Bones, Metal & Magic [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Puns, Flirting, M/M, Mettaton Catches On, Post-Canon, Puns as Flirting, mettasan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-15 09:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Ehtar/pseuds/Raven_Ehtar
Summary: Mettaton has noticed Sans around a bit more than usual and mistakes the reasons for it completely.





	the ways of fabulous

Sans took his final bow amid applause. There was more of it and it was more enthusiastic than usual. Apparently being absent for a few days worked wonders for his regular crowd, their hearts had grown fonder while he’d been gone. 

Not that he cared about the applause, _per se_ , laughs and appreciative groans were more his bag. There had been more of those than usual as well, though, so all good. 

He headed backstage, to the changing room the Lounge provided him. There wasn’t much reason to, he had no makeup to remove or costumes to get into, he went onstage as he was. At most he would swap out slippers for sneakers, but that hardly warranted a whole dressing room. He didn’t even need a room for storing props, as he never used those, either. He could literally climb up on the stage from the front after having dinner and there be no difference to his act – he’d even done that a couple of times. The stage manager didn’t like it, but the audience did, so that was that. 

Still, it would be rude to be given a room and then never use it, so Sans swung by after every one of his shows. 

At first he would just stop by for a quick post-show nap before he would shortcut his way to one of his stalls. Nobody ever bothered him, and it was warmer than any of his stalls in Snowdin - and cooler than any in Hotland - and drier than the ones in Waterfall. It was a nice little luxury.

Lately he’d decided that if he was going to spend so much time in his dressing room, he might as well personalize it a little. Even if he was asleep 95% of the time he was there. To turn the warm, dry, but not _too_ warm room into something a little homier, he’d taken to filling the empty cork board and the mirror with newspaper clippings. There was no real rhyme or reason to them, they were just whatever had caught his eye on any given day. Usually comics, puzzles, or the horoscopes, but there were plenty of pictures, entertainment announcements, random headlines and parts of articles as well. He’d been collecting clippings long enough that the cork board was almost full, and the lighted mirror was completely wreathed in a chaotic mix of words and photographs. 

Much better than the blankness from before. 

Sans was arranging the newest clipping, a small opinion piece on the ethicality of hiring Washuas as maids, when something about the air around him changed slightly - just enough to catch his attention. 

He opened the door just as Mettaton, in full EX body, was raising his hand to knock. The bot’s much more expressive face showed surprise, and he stepped back. “Oh! Pardon me, darling, I didn’t realize you would be leaving so soon.”

“i wasn’t,” he said, craning his neck to look up at Mettaton. He was so much taller in EX form, it was hard to look him in the eye. The heels didn’t help.

“Oh? Then…?” Metty motioned behind him confusedly. 

“i knew you were coming,” he said with a wink. He was feeling more himself after a few days away from the Lounge and from Metts. He could tease now without any trouble whatsoever. 

A grin spread over Mettaton’s face, and Sans could swear he saw an actual spark in his eye. “Is that right, my dear? We must be on the same _wavelength_.”

Sans raised his brows. It wasn’t odd for Metts to flirt - it was his default method of communication - but was he adding _puns_ to it now? He really _was_ a flirt. “could be. i also saw you _skulking_ around the audience during my show.”

“Oh, not skulking, darling. I love a _humerus_ evening as much as the next.”

“can’t _resist_ them, eh?”

“It must be your _magnetism_.”

They looked at each other a moment, then broke out into giggles at the same time. As though he had proved himself worthy, Sans stepped aside to allow Mettaton into his dressing room. He came in, still smiling, and looked around the small space with interest. 

It was easy to forget sometimes that Mettaton actually _owned_ the Hotel and Lounge. Other times it was impossible, but Metts had never really felt like a boss. He’d never _acted_ like a boss to Sans, really, and he knew it wasn’t because that was how MTT treated all of his ‘employees,’ because there was always Burgerpants as an example of how things could be for everyone. 

Watching him take a quick turn around the room, looking with interest at the paper clippings, Sans was reminded that Metts owned everything around him and signed his checks. Well, some of them.

Sans was also reminded of just how different his two forms were as he bent slightly to look more closely at a crossword. One was distinctly curvier.

Mettaton turned back around, and Sans made sure his eyes were set on the bot’s face, his _face…_

Metts smiled at him and leaned into one hip, somewhere between casual and businesslike. “Well, my dear! In all the time you have been a part of the MTT family, I believe that was the first time I have sat through one of your shows from beginning to end.”

“oh?” Not terribly flattering, but Metts probably meant it that way. He was self-absorbed enough to have that kind of naiveté. It was cute when it wasn’t irritating. “what’d ya think?”

One eyebrow arched at him. “It was about what I had expected… but still better than I thought it would be. You are quite entertaining, darling. You had me laughing quite a few times.”

Sans felt the blush come back. He wasn’t often actually _complimented_ on his jokes. It made him feel oddly self-conscious. It was nice, though. 

“thanks, metts. i appreciate that.”

“Of course you do,” he agreed. Sans had to stop himself snorting. Shameless, that was the word that described Metts. Shameless in everything. 

“But!” He held up a finger dramatically. “One cannot help but notice that you do not quite match your surroundings, my dear. I do not mean to be cruel, but you are, comparatively, rather underdressed.”

Sans looked down at himself. He was the first to admit that he dressed for comfort and not for show, but since this was his first day back in almost a week, he’d made a special effort. Sneakers, shorts, shirt, hoodie… they were all his nicest and newest. “you think so?”

“I’m afraid so. But fear not,” he said with a flourish of his hands. “For I am here to lift you out of your dull wardrobe and into a life of fabulousness!”

Sometimes Mettaton reminded him of his brother.

Mettaton bent at the hips so he was eye to socket with him, catching his chin in deceptively strong fingers. All resemblance to his brother fled, as did most of the thoughts in Sans’ head with Mettaton’s face only a couple of inches away from his. “uh…”

“With a little know-how,” he said, ignoring what must have been a rather shocked expression, “we can turn you into quite the dapper gentleman. A _bone_ -a-fide entertainer.”

Sans’ knees almost gave out. It was a little too much to expect him to keep his cool with proximity _and_ puns going on. Then Metts went and had the nerve to bite his lower lip thoughtfully, still looking him over carefully. Yeah, those lips were soft. He could see by how they gave way to those sharp teeth… oh, _marrow…_

So much for feeling more like himself. 

“uh--“ he squeaked. He cleared his throat and with a heroic effort put together a coherent sentence with Mettaton still holding his face. “you sayin’ i’m not pretty enough, metty?”

“Oh, not at all!” To Sans’ relief he released his grip on his jaw and straightened back up. “You are quite a handsome young man of calcium. I merely suggest that with a little more effort we might elevate you even further, and you may dazzle your audience with your gorgeous self _and_ your wit.”

“huh?” Even without Mettaton right in his face, he was having some trouble visualizing what was being described to him. 

Mettaton laughed and gave him a look that was probably meant to be knowing and coy. “I have heard that you wished to update your look, my dear. Well, here I am, to provide you with the makeover of dreams!”

“um. mettaton, who told you i wanted a makeover?”

“Dr. Alphys and I _do_ talk, you know.” Mettaton turned away, which Sans considered a blessing. If it hadn’t been the case before, he was certain his face must be practically glowing blue with embarrassment, now. 

“She told me about your little visit, and of your subject of interest: little old me. It’s obvious you were hoping for some pointers on the _fabulousness_ that is me. Though,” he smirked at Sans over his shoulder. “You could have come straight to the source, my dear. Alphys may have done the designing, but the essence of my charisma all comes from _me_.”

Sans didn’t doubt that in the slightest. ‘Fabulous’ didn’t seem like the kind of thing that would be programmable, even if Mettaton were purely mechanical.

He couldn’t help it. Sans laughed, relief and a love of the absurd making it bubble up out of him. When Mettaton turned back, his face clouding, Sans held up his hands. “no, no… thanks, metts, i appreciate the offer, but i wasn’t looking to update - or up _grade_ \- my look. i just dropped by to talk to the doc.”

As his chuckles died away he noticed that Mettaton was watching him. He didn’t look angry, or insulted. He looked… _thoughtful._

__

__

_Uh-oh._

“So you went to Hotland to pay a visit on Dr. Alphys, to _chat_ , and then spent the whole afternoon talking about _me_.” The eyebrow quirked up again. “I may be just a touch biased, my dear, but even _I_ don’t think someone would go to all that trouble without some sort of ulterior motive.”

Mettaton took a step closer. Sans was still standing in front of the dressing room door, but with the robot coming close his vertebra pressed against the wood through his jacket. “w- well…”

“Tell me, Sans,” Metts leaned close again, though this time not to examine his face. “What was it about the construction of my body you found so interesting…?”

Marrow _and_ cartilage. Mettaton was so close that Sans could feel his words brushing past him. He wouldn’t say he disliked it, but it made a skeleton rattle, didn’t it, having so direct and close an encounter? He was not prepared for this. Time to strategize. His fingertips scraped over wood, looking for the handle. 

“uh, sorry, metty, i’m late for my next gig. seeyoulaterbye!”

The door popped open, spilling out a flustered skeleton onto the hallway floor. He rolled over backwards until he hit his feet, took two steps and shortcut his way all the way back to Snowdin - as far from Mettaton as he could get for now.

It being chilly and helping him to cool off was a nice bonus.


End file.
